


Fall 1994

by helsinkibaby



Series: The Pieces of my Life [1]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Het, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:44:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2142798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ellie and Greg meet for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall 1994

**Author's Note:**

> A crossover series where everyone's favourite lab rat romanced the president's daughter...
> 
> _The basic thinking was that we knew Ellie went to Stanford and we knew Greg did too, and my obsessive fangirl tendencies, not to mention my obsessive maths brain, worked out that the following maths (copied and pasted from the first entry) Ellie has two ages in canon (she's said to be 24 in season two's Ellie, and 27 in season four's Game On), for this, I've gone with the first age, which would have her being born in 1976, one year after Greg, whose birthday the CBS website lists as 1975. After that, it's a case of spot the canon and spot what was made up! Anyway, they met, they fell for one another, they broke up but never really lost contact... the tagline comes from the Tim McGraw song "Why We Said Goodbye" - you're sown into the fabric, the pieces of my life, and I just can't remember why we said goodbye."_
> 
> _From what I remember, it stays fairly close to canon up to about 2003/2004, which is when I started writing it, and anything with the date 2005 on it is AU, certainly from a West Wing point of view. I hopped all over the timeline when writing this, so they're posted out of order but are in timeline order here, and I have checked the computer and can confirm that this is everything I ever wrote in this 'verse._

When he sees her for the first time, she is walking across the campus in the first week of the school year. She is wearing pale blue jeans and a white T-shirt, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her face is scrubbed clean of make-up, and sandwiched between two other girls, each of whom is wearing enough make-up to sink the Titanic, as well as skirts short enough to qualify as belts, she looks every inch the freshman she is, if not younger. She looks very much a girl among women, and while he's pretty sure that she wouldn't thank him for that frank assessment, nonetheless, Greg knows that it's true.

Beside him, John points out the three girls walking along, but he talks of the two at either end, not the one in the middle, the one who has captured Greg's interest. Nor does Greg draw John's attention to her, because after all, she's not exactly their type. Besides, it's a big campus, there's no reason to think that their paths will ever cross.

Except that they do, a week later, when he is in the dining hall, on his own because John has an Ethics class that he can't afford to miss - Greg always jokes that his friend needs all the help in that area he can; John usually ripostes with suggestions that Greg should sign up for the class too.

But he has not signed up for the class, has decided to forage for food instead, ergo, he braves the dining hall. One plate of fries and pizza later, he is looking for a seat when he sees her sitting on her own, sandwich to the side, a weighty tome of a textbook in front of her. Before he can think about what he's doing, his feet are making their way over to her, and he tilts his head so that he can see what she's reading, grinning when it's something he recognises.

"Freshman Chem," he says, and she looks up at him, eyes wide in surprise. "I took that class last year," he adds. "Newman's something else, huh?"

She smiles, but the smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. "We've only had one class so far," she tells him. "But he doesn't seem so bad."

Greg chuckles. "Wait until your first pop quiz," he warns her, shuddering at the memory. "I'd never seen people turn so pale so fast."

Another faint cousin of a smile. "Thanks for the warning."

It has the faint hint of a dismissal about it, but Greg just doesn't give up that easy. "This seat taken?" he asks, not waiting for her to answer before he slides in beside her, and he's pretty sure he can see a flicker of amusement in her eyes, which he takes for encouragement. "So," he says then. "I know you're taking freshman Chem... that would make you what? Science major?"

She shakes her head. "Pre-med," she says, looking down at the table.

"Ah," he says, as if she's just gifted him with far more information than she actually has. "So when you qualify, that would make you Doctor...?"

He lets his voice trail off invitingly, feels a moment of triumph when she looks at him, rests her chin on her hands and, with a broad grin and nary a blink of her rather expressive eyes, she says, "You know, my mother always told me never to talk to strangers."

His eyes open wide and he finds himself chuckling despite himself. "I thought college was all about rebellion," he reminds her. "Doing what you're not supposed to do when you're out from under your parents' gaze..."

But she's got an answer for that too. "I'm still a freshman, remember?" she tosses back. "You've got a whole year of rebellion on me."

He tilts his head to the side, looks her up and down. "Well, I'd hate to make you uncomfortable," he says, holding out a hand. "I'm Greg."

She looks at him, then his hand, and he gets the feeling that she's sizing him up, trying to make up her mind. "Ellie," she finally says, taking his hand and shaking it firmly.

"Then it's nice to meet you Ellie," he tells her. "Now since we're not strangers anymore, you feel better about talking to me?"

She leans back in her chair, still gazing at him appraisingly, but when she pushes her book away from her, he knows that he's won the battle. "We're in a public place," she responds. "I figure I'm safe enough."

He shrugs, giving her his most disarming smile. "I promise not to do anything that would lead you down the path of rebellion." A deliberate pause. "Unless you want me to."

"And the reason I should trust you is?"

"What?" He claps his hand over his chest in pretend horror. "Don't I look like a guy who keeps his word?"

She grins, a wicked grin that sets her eyes to dancing as they look him up and down. "You don't want to know what you look like," she laughs, and once more, he gets to pretend affront.

"I'll have you know this is all the latest California fashion," he tells her, pulling out his multi-coloured shirt, the better for her to see the pattern. "I take it things are different where you come from?"

"Wear that in New Hampshire and you'd freeze to death," she answers, and he congratulates himself for wheedling another bit of information out of her. Somehow, though he hasn't been talking to her for long, he gets the impression that she guards her privacy jealously.

"New Hampshire? You're a long way from home."

He had been doing well, but at his innocent words, something slams shut in her eyes, and she squares her shoulders, turning away from him, back towards her book. "Yep," is all she says, and frowning, he makes a mental note to stay away from that topic of conversation.

"I'm the opposite," he tells her, pretending not to notice her reaction. "San Gabriel, California, born and raised... I mean, I could have gone east to school... Harvard, Yale, Columbia... I just couldn't face those winters." He shudders, as if even the thought of an East Coast winter is enough to chill him to the bone, gratified when there's a giggle from beside him and he catches her looking at him out of the corner of her eyes. "That's why you're here, right? A surfer chick, born in the wrong climate?"

She's leaning back again now, thawed out again after that icy moment. "That's it, that's me." She tilts her head. "How did you guess?"

"Just lucky." They share a moment of companionable silence, where he eats some of his dinner and she chews on a bite of her sandwich. "So," he says then. "How are you liking Stanford?"

She brightens considerably at that. "It's great," she says, and this time, she turns towards him, tucking one leg underneath her. "I got most of the classes I wanted to take... including Freshman Chem..." She taps the book with one fingernail as she talks. "And so far, they're ok. Touch wood. I'm not too sure about my roommate... she seems a little... flaky? But we have completely different schedules, so I can live with that..."

"Count your blessings," Greg tells her, remembering with horror his freshman roommate. "Last year I lived with Matt the Canadian hockey player... he used to get me to get his skates sharpened. I got them done to the wrong depth once; he didn't talk to me for a week."

She's grinning, but it's a forced smile. "You know I have no idea what you're talking about, right?"

He nods. "That happens to me a lot."

"So you've got a new roomy this year?"

"Matt is now in one of the only places on earth colder than New Hampshire; Sweden. He's playing in the elite league over there. And since I'm living in the frat house this year, my roommate also happens to be one of my best buddies."

"Sounds like a fun mix," she observes dryly.

"You know it," he tells her, speaking, as it happens, the truth. "We're party central."

"Good to know." She looks as if she's going to say something, then she looks down at her watch and gasps. "I have a lecture the other side of campus in ten minutes," she says. "I've got to go."

He nods, feels a pang of disappointment, because he's quite enjoying himself. "Hey, no pressure... but there's a party at our frat house tonight... Phi Kappa Delta? You should come... bring your friends."

She stands, hoists her bag over her shoulder, looks him up and down one more time. Then she smiles, nods. "Maybe I'll see you there," she says, turning and walking away without looking back.

Greg watches her go and when she is out of sights, goes back to the business of eating. His food is almost cold, but he barely notices.  



End file.
